Hard Justice: A Cobra Elite Novel

by Clare, Pamela

  17

  Elizabeth steered Quinn through the door to the flat, turning to face Nigel. “Thanks for coming out so late to pick us up. Thanks, too, for getting the car safely back here. We’re both grateful.”

  Nigel grinned. “We’ve all been there. Work hard, play harder. Isn’t that right, McManus?”

  “Aye.” Quinn had been quiet the entire way home.

  He walked into his bedroom and disappeared into the bathroom for a good ten minutes, probably throwing up, leaving Elizabeth to wrestle with her emotions.

  She kicked off her heels, peeled off her pantyhose, and went in search of every bottle of booze in the flat, starting with the new bottle of whisky he’d picked up today.

  Tonight had been wonderful—at first. Seeing him in the kilt, watching him sing to her, knowing that he meant every word of it. Her heart had melted.

  But when he’d come off that stage, he’d behaved as if emotional demons were chasing him. He’d slammed down shots, one after the other, seeming agitated on the dance floor, almost getting in a fight over nothing.

  Anyone watching Quinn tonight would assume he was an alcoholic. Elizabeth might have believed that, too, if she hadn’t known that he went for weeks and sometimes months without drinking a drop.

  Cobra did not allow drinking on missions.

  No man had ever made Elizabeth feel as cherished as Quinn. Most had been too busy competing with her, trying to prove that they were better at the job than she was.

  But Quinn had never once put her down or tried to one-up her. His respect for her was evident every day on the job. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him. The fact that he was also big and ripped and handsome as hell hadn’t hurt. Now she knew that he fucked like a god, too.

  None of that would matter if he couldn’t control his drinking. She couldn’t build a life with a drunk.

  The thought took her by surprise.

  Was she thinking of this as a relationship now?

  You’re in deep trouble, girl.

  Maybe so, but now it was her turn to show him how much she cared.

  She carried the bottles to the kitchen, opened them, and dumped their contents down the drain. She was so wrapped up in watching the amber liquid disappear that she didn’t hear Quinn walk up to her.

  “What the bloody hell are you doin’?” Quinn’s voice boomed through the flat, startling Elizabeth, making her jump. He yanked the bottle out of her hand, the blind fury on his face making her take a step backward, her pulse skipping. “You cannae just dump a man’s Scotch down the drain! You’re no’ my fuckin’ ma!”

  Tears pricked Elizabeth’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “Keep it—if that’s what’s important to you. But you and I don’t stand a chance if you keep drinking like this. I won’t get into a relationship with an alcoholic.”

  He jerked as if she’d struck him.

  But she was done.

  She turned and walked out of the kitchen toward her room.

  “Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I didnae mean to shout at you. I… Fuck.”

  She heard true remorse in his voice, stopped, faced him.

  He leaned back against the kitchen wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, still in his kilt, despair on his face. He held out the bottle he’d grabbed from her. “I’m sorry. Finish dumpin’ it.”

  She walked back to him, took the bottle, poured the rest of it into the sink.

  Quinn sat there, the anguish on his face putting a hitch in her chest.

  She sat beside him, the tile cold on her bare thighs. “What is it, Quinn? You can tell me anything. You know that, don’t you?”

  For a moment, he said nothing, tension rolling off him.

  When at last he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost devoid of emotion. “I grew up in social housin’ just like Nicola—the damp seepin’ through the walls, syringes in the halls, vomit and piss in the lift.”

  No wonder he’d been so tense when they’d gone to Thurston Tower.

  “My da was a drunk. He never held a job for as long as I knew him. When he was drinkin’, he beat me and my ma. Fists. Belt. A coat hanger.” Quinn rubbed a small white scar on his forehead. “One time he struck me wi’ a bottle.”

  Elizabeth took his hand. “I’m so sorry, Quinn. That must have been terrifying.”

  “When you’re a child, you dinnae know that it disnae have to be that way. It’s just the world you’re livin’ in, aye?”

  “I suppose so.” What a sad and terrible thought.

  “As I got older, and after my sister was born, I tried to defend my ma, but she didnae want me comin’ between her and my da’s fists.”

  “It sounds to me like she was trying to protect you.”

  But Quinn was lost in memories and didn’t seem to hear Elizabeth. “I grew angrier and angrier. I joined the South Bank Boys and took my rage out on the world. One night when my da was beatin’ my mother, I threatened to kill him. I meant it, too.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “The next day, when my da went out to the pub, my ma packed up her things and Paige’s and left. I wanted to go wi’ her, but she wouldnae take me. ‘You’re too much like your da,’ she said. She told me I frightened her. I stood there, watchin’ as they walked out the door, the pain of it worse than any beatin’. That was the last time I cried.”

  Tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes, her throat tight, her heart breaking for him. “How old were you?”

  “Fourteen.”

  * * *

  Quinn was glad he’d already emptied his belly. Talking about this turned his stomach. He hadn’t planned on telling Elizabeth any of it, but he couldn’t get past the look of fear on Elizabeth’s face when he’d yanked the bottle away from her, a similar scene playing through his mind.

  His mother had been right. He was too much like his father.

  Get oot ma hoose, ye fuckin’ bastard! Yer nae son o’ mine. Dinnae be comin’ back or I’ll beat the life oot o’ ye, so I will. This is yer hame nae mair, ya worthless fuck!

  Quinn held tighter to Elizabeth’s hand, her touch an anchor. “One night when I was seventeen, I decided I’d had enough. I took every bottle of drink in the flat and poured it down the drain. He came up behind me, started shoutin’. I told him that he was mean when he was drunk, and that I wouldnae let him give me a doin’ again.”

  “That was incredibly brave of you.”

  “I dropped one of the bottles in my surprise, and the next I knew, he was layin’ his belt across my back. I stood and jerked the belt away from him. Then I punched him in the face. Och, it felt good, so I did it again and again. I beat the bastard bloody.”

  He willed himself to meet Elizabeth’s gaze, prepared to see shock and disgust.

  Instead, she was in tears. “It sounds to me like he deserved it.”

  Maybe she’d misunderstood.

  Quinn tried again. “I beat my own da until he was bleedin’, Elizabeth. That’s the kind of man I am.”

  She shook her head. “No, Quinn, that’s what you did to survive. It doesn’t define you. It’s what you’ve done with your life since then that tells me who you are.”

  He snorted. “You think I’m some kind of hero because I fought with the SAS? But that’s no’ true. My da threw me out that night. I had nowhere to stay, nothin’ to eat, no way to get out of the rain. I saw a recruitment office, walked in, and signed up.”

  He told Elizabeth how he’d explained to the recruiter that he had no home and no food or money and how the man had taken pity on him, setting him up with a place to live and food and even spending money to get him through until recruit training.

  “The army became my family. I went from beatin’ my da to learnin’ how to kill professionally. But I didnae do it for noble reasons. I did it to fill my belly—and to make sure my father never stopped fearin’ me.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke.

  Elizabeth sniffed, let go of his hand, straddled him, sitting on his thighs, her
hands cupping his face. “If you think tonight was a replay of what happened when you were seventeen, you’re wrong. You didn’t beat me with a belt. You didn’t lay a hand on me. Yes, you startled me and raised your voice, but you didn’t hurt me. Do you hear that?”

  “You backed away from me. I saw fear on your face. I did that.”

  “Only because I was startled. I didn’t know you were there. Yes, the shouting unnerved me a bit, but I’m fine. I wasn’t afraid of you. And as for the army, you paid your country back by becoming an elite fighter. You gave them a decade of deployments, risking your life. I think that debt is paid in full.”

  But some part of Quinn couldn’t accept this. “I’m no’ a good man, Lilibet.”

  Tears spilled freely down her cheeks now, her smile quavering. “Do you remember when you pulled me away from Kazi’s men in Kabul? I’d never been more afraid in my life. They were talking in Farsi about raping me, selling me, beheading me. And then you were there, angry as hell and armed to the teeth.”

  Quinn had wanted to rip them apart. “Aye, I remember. I saw fear in your eyes.”

  “They shouted at you to stand back. One held that rifle to my head. You told him you’d cut off his balls. You moved in on them as if you weren’t afraid of them at all. You pulled me away from them and said, ‘I’ve got you, Lilibet.’ And I knew it was going to be okay. That is who you are. You will always be a hero to me, Quinn McManus.”

  He wiped the tears from her cheeks, her words a balm to the raw, broken place inside him. “Och, Lilibet, do you know what you mean to me?”

  Because he couldn’t bring himself to tell her, he kissed her, soft and slow, his heart aching for her.

  She lifted herself up, pushed his kilt up his thighs, and stroked him to hardness. Then she moved the crotch of her panties aside and took him inside her, her gaze locked with his as she rode him. God, she was beautiful, the most beautiful thing in his world, the motions of her hips carrying him up and up until he was pounding into her from below and no longer knew where his body ended and hers began.

  Scorching pleasure. Precious torment. A taste of heaven.

  “Quinn!” Her head fell back when she came, bliss golden on her face.

  He fell over that sweet edge with her, salvation washing through him as she carried him to paradise.

  * * *

  Elizabeth lay with her head on Quinn’s chest, tenderness for him overwhelming her. He’d poured his heart out, bared his soul to her. “You’re nothing like your father. You’ve always been protective of women. You’re kind, thoughtful, caring.”

  “The day I met Jack, I called him a right wee prick. He kept goin’ on about honor and servin’ our country. He told me I was messed up. He was right. I learned so much from him—how to hold a fork properly, how to handle a disagreement wi’out beatin’ someone’s face in, how to be a man. I wouldnae be who I am today wi’out him.”

  She had to fight not to cry. Now, at last, she understood his absolute faith in Jack. “He really was a brother to you.”

  “Aye, he was.” In a moment, Quinn was fast asleep.

  But Elizabeth stayed awake into the early morning hours, unable to take her mind off the boy who’d had to beat his own father and join the army to survive.

  I’ll find the bastard who took Jack from you and Ava. I promise.

  * * *

  Elizabeth walked with Quinn back to the car, feeling like she’d just spent the day in another world. “I think the Great Hall was my favorite part. When the crowd thinned out, I imagined James the Fourth and Margaret Tudor there, surrounded by courtiers.”

  “You’ve got a good imagination. All I saw was tourists.”

  Poor Quinn. He’d stuck to the plan of bringing her to see the castle even though he was emotionally drained from the night before—and more than a little hungover. He’d suffered through countless stairways, two museums, high tea at the tea garden, and every square foot of the castle open to the public with good humor.

  “The view from the Argyle Tower was amazing. Oh! I loved the crown jewels, too. How about you?”

  “Och, well, some of the weapons were interesting—the Lochubar axe.” He spun her around, pretended to hold a sword to her throat, making her gasp. “I like the great swords, too. And you like being’ overpowered, so you do.”

  Her cheeks burned. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Your secret is safe wi’ me, doll.”

  They ate dinner with the same view of the castle they’d had last time, lingering over their conversation and dessert. Then they used the car’s GPS to find the last location from Jack’s phone data.

  “That’s it. Wow. It’s a mansion.” Elizabeth looked out the window as they passed. “All the lights are on, and there are security guards at the front gate. Would they be Jack’s former coworkers?”

  “Aye, I suppose they would.”

  It was strange to think that Jack had been at this same villa every Friday night until exactly two weeks ago, when he’d gone to work but never come home.

  “Ava said Jack came home upset on a Friday night exactly one month ago tonight. She remembered it vividly, which tells me that his behavior was unusual enough to stick in her mind.”

  “You’re thinkin’ that whatever upset him happened here.”

  “Possibly.” She never wanted to assume anything.

  “What does this have to do with that bastard Grant? I’m certain he’s the one who planted drugs on us.”

  They had talked about this, and Elizabeth wasn’t so sure. “I don’t think his goons have the skill to hack door locks.”

  Quinn parked down the street from the mansion. “What if he’s got someone else workin’ for him—a cleaner, some fella who lurks in the background until he’s needed.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “You’ve watched too many American TV shows.”

  They got out of the car, Quinn taking care to arm the alarm, and made their way down the street, the dull thud of bass audible from several houses down.

  “It sounds like one hell of a party.” She stopped before they reached the house. “Look. There are cars pulling up to a side entrance. There must be an alley or back driveway.”

  “Aye, I see it.”

  A teenage girl stepped out of a shiny dark BMW, followed by an older man, no doubt her father, the noise from the party growing louder for a moment when they walked through the side door, the older man’s hand shifting to the girl’s butt.

  So, the man wasn’t her father.

  “I’m going to try to get in. Maybe we can talk with this MSP—Jack’s boss.” She’d dressed nicely for exactly this reason, passing over heels for less dressy but more comfortable flats.

  “Aye, we can try.”

  “Just act like you belong here.”

  “You want me to impersonate a pompous arse?”

  She bit back a laugh. “You’re a patriotic Scotsman who served his country. Wear that tonight.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  They walked up to the front gate, where two men in suits stood guard, equipped with radios.

  Elizabeth put on her game face. “Elizabeth Shields and Quinn McManus.”

  The men looked at them and then looked at each other.

  “Have you got an invitation?” the older one asked.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m only in town for a short time, and I was hoping to speak with the MSP. We’re friends of Jack Murray’s.”

  Alarm.

  Elizabeth saw it in their eyes.

  “I served wi’ him and Andrew Lewis in the SAS,” Quinn said. “I think Lewis works for the MSP as well. He and I are good friends.”

  The older of the two guards stepped back, spoke into his handset, his accent English. “I’ve a couple here who say they’re friends of Murray’s—an American woman and a Scot who says he fought with Murray and Lewis in the SAS.”

  Elizabeth gave him their names again, watched as he relayed the information over the radio. He was jumpy, his gaze
darting between her and Quinn.

  He knew something.

  He ended the radio call. “He’s going to talk to Lewis and the MSP.”

  “Lewis is here?” Quinn grinned.

  But Elizabeth wanted answers. “We’re heartbroken about Jack’s death. It must be hard for all of you, too.”

  “Oh. Yes. An awful business.”

  “Were you two friends of his, too?”

  The looks on their faces answered that question.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the older man said. “Murray was a good man. Roberts here didn’t know him well, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t know him well at all.”

  Then the older one took up his handset. “Yes, sir. Understood. I’ll tell them, sir.”

  He met Elizabeth’s gaze. “Mr. Lewis says that he and the MSP can’t meet with you tonight. He suggests you schedule a meeting with his office in Holyrood.”

  Elizabeth hadn’t expected this.

  Quinn wasn’t happy. “That’s a load of pish. Give me the radio and put Lewis on.”

  The guard stepped back. “I’m sorry, sir. They’re not available.”

  “What the f—”

  “Thanks.” Elizabeth cut across Quinn. “Tell the two of them to expect a call.”

  She and Quinn had just turned to walk back to the car, Quinn cursing, when the front entrance opened. An older man leaned down and kissed a young teenage girl, the teen dressed in a revealing cocktail dress. Then the teen walked down the steps and out the front gate, the street light hitting the girl’s face.

  Elizabeth stared. “Nicola?”

  18

  Quinn just had time to recognize her when Nicola ran, dashing in a panic down the street. Elizabeth ran after her, giving Quinn no choice but to follow.

  Elizabeth called out for her again. “Nicola! Wait!”

  Nicola was wearing high heels, so Elizabeth and Quinn caught up to her quickly.

  Nicola whirled on them, her gaze shifting to the villa. “Leave me be! I cannae be seen talkin’ wi’ you, or they’ll kill me!”